


One True Way

by Sineala



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Evil, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from a Valdemar that never was. (Or: the one where the Companions are evil.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One True Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isabeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/gifts).



> Here are your warnings, because I did not feel comfortable reducing them to ticky boxes: This is not a particularly nice story by Valdemar standards. The non-consensual aspects of telepathy are explored. The deaths of canon characters -- who have died in canon -- are mentioned, and the fate of several main characters is either ambiguous or unfortunate but not lethal. I like to think the ending is at least positive.
> 
> Having said that, I sure hope this is the evil Companion AU treat you wanted; I agonized about whether it would be too depressing and awful to give you, and am finally posting on the theory that if you don't like it you will surely have other treats.
> 
> Relevant canon knowledge: Take a Thief, the Last Herald-Mage trilogy, and mostly the Arrows trilogy... but it's all AU from here.

_Is that a Companion?_

The sound of the horse moving through the park, grazing, had woken Skif up from his half-sleep in the shade, and he blinked drowsily at the noise. It was bad reflexes for someone in his line of work, to be sure, but it was probably only a horse anyway.

He hoped it was a horse. Everyone knew what Companions could do to you.

 _Be reasonable,_ Skif told himself, trying to put all the tales of Companions out of his mind as he sat up to see if he could get a look through the bushes. What business would one of them have over here? He was clean, too, as clean as any thief got -- he didn't even carry lockpicks these days, much less stolen goods. He was clean enough for the Watch, leastaways. And he wasn't scared of them. They had nothing on him. No evidence.

But evidence didn't matter when a Companion could look into your very heart--

 _Shut up,_ he told himself again, firmly, and then finally stood up, hoping to see some sleek bay, come untied where its owner had left it.

The horse was white, and it raised its head to see him. The coat was the clue. Not gray, as even the palest of "white" horses were. Pure, shining white. And it looked at Skif with blue eyes.

Oh, hell.

He turned, then, to run. Or try to. His feet wouldn't move. He couldn't look away, could only stand there, terrified, as the Companion came closer.

 _:My name is Cymry,:_ a voice said, and it was inside his head, just like in all the stories. And it was angry. _:I have come to Judge you, Skif.:_

Judging him? He was off the streets now, he was living at a Temple, not stealing anything, not today-- he tried to think that at the Companion. And anyway, he didn't have any Gifts, like Healing or the Bardic Gift or Firestarting or Fetching, like in the stories. Nothing for her to take. Maybe, just maybe, she would believe him. But the stories about Companions said you could never lie to them at all, never even stretch the truth. She knew.

The mare snorted just like a horse would. _:You're a thief, Skif. A thief with a Gift. You're starting to be able to sense thoughts. Or haven't you noticed?:_

Skif was startled into replying out loud. "Me, Gifted? I ain't! I never sensed no thoughts!"

He'd thought his hearing was becoming more acute, listening to what his neighbor was saying, when he had been spying on the man who'd ordered his old building burned, but what if it had been what the man was thinking? It wasn't fair, he hadn't done it on purpose--

 _:You know the laws. Companions Judge all Gifted and Choose the worthy, for the good of Valdemar,:_ the mare said, and her voice in his mind was stern, thundering from on high. _:And the Heralds need no thieves in their ranks.:_

He knew what was coming. He couldn't move. Some unknown force was holding him still. It had to be the Companion. By all the gods, he was sorry, he'd never steal again, if only she'd let him go!

"Please," Skif forced out, brokenly, hoping she would listen and show mercy, compassion, anything, knowing as he said it that it was hopeless. Once a Companion decided, you were done for.

 _:I Judge you,:_ Cymry repeated. _:And I find you unworthy:._

Skif fell into those deep blue eyes, into anger and pain. His mind was ripped apart, the Gift he'd hardly known forcibly stripped from him, returned to the giver. He sagged to the ground, something inside his head ringing and shaking as he cried with the loss of it, and then everything went dark--

***

 _Two years later..._

Talia's life would never be the same again. She only hoped it would be a better one.

Barely days ago, she had run from Firstwife Keldar and the threats of marrying her off -- and, as it had happened, she'd run straight into a Companion. Life at Sensholding had not prepared her for this; oh, certainly she'd loved the few books her father had, and most especially the tales of the Herald-Mages of old, but none of the books mentioned what to do if a Companion came wandering down the road toward you.

Whatever it was, it couldn't be worse than getting married off, or being a cloistered priestess. So Talia took a deep breath, and she looked into the Companion's eyes. And it was wonderful.

After that everything was somehow hazy, an odd mixture of chaos and novelty that rightly should have bothered her but instead made her serenely calm. She had to go to the capital, of course. This Companion wasn't hers, and they would want him back. And whatever they would do to a Companion-thief would be much much worse than anything she could dream up, she thought, starting to worry. And then suddenly, she was calm again.

Talia thought, when she had time to think about it at all on the mad dash toward Haven, that perhaps this strange calmness was something Rolan was doing to her -- and how did she know his name was Rolan? -- and that, distantly, she ought to have been upset by him intruding into her mind, just like that. Like he had a right.

That thought never bothered her again either, for shortly after, she had decided that it must be hunger and lightheadness. They stopped only briefly in the Waystations, after all, where there hadn't been much food. She had tried, feebly, to get Rolan to halt in Sweetsprings, the first town they passed, but he wouldn't stop. She needn't have bothered, she realized; terrified faces peered out of windows as Rolan galloped by. They wouldn't want to draw a Companion's attention, and, well, she was no Herald, to demand anything...

Except she was, now, she'd found out, upon arriving in Haven. Or she would be, because Rolan had Chosen her. Her, Talia! She could hardly believe it! And she met the Queen herself, and the Heir-presumptive, brat that she was, and everyone smiled and said things she didn't quite understand about avoiding Judgment for Elspeth and her being the Queen's Own.

Talia was beginning to get the sense that her presence -- or at least, her lack of knowledge -- was unusual, and the behavior of her fellow trainees only reinforced it.

Sherrill, who'd been assigned to show Talia her rooms, gaped at her. "You don't mean to say you looked into Rolan's eyes right away when you met him?"

"Well, yes," Talia said, feeling her puzzlement increase. "Other people don't?"

Sherrill shook her head violently as she escorted her down a long corridor. "Hellfires, no! When Silkswift showed up, none of us quite knew who she was for. And my family's Evendim fisherfolk, so understand there were a heap of us. So we were all determined to keep out of her way, because, well, you know all the stories about Judgment."

"What stories?"

The other girl stopped dead in the middle of the hall and turned to scrutinize Talia's face. "You can't -- you can't be serious. They don't teach you anything about Companions on the border, do they?"

Talia shrugged, mute, but now full of a kind of horrified curiosity. Should she have been terrified of Rolan? She knew, vaguely, that Heralds or maybe Companions could mete out justice of some sort, but the books weren't especially clear. And suddenly, she couldn't even imagine ever having been afraid of Rolan. The very idea was absurd.

"No," she replied. "I didn't -- don't -- know any stories. I just knew that whatever he was going to do, it couldn't be worse than what my family was going to do to me."

Sherrill's jaw had dropped a little and she was looking at Talia like she was some sort of hero, which Talia most certainly wasn't. She'd just looked a Companion in the eyes, and that was all.

There was a long silence. "Well," Sherrill said, finally. "I suppose it's a good thing, that you don't have all those fears to start with. I was -- oh, it seems funny now, since I wouldn't trade Silkswift for anything, but I was so terrified then. I must have been, anyway."

"What did you do?" Talia asked, as they started walking again.

"Oh, I hid!" Sherrill said, laughing a little. "Once we knew she was there for me. And one of my cousins eventually dragged me out and they all held me up in front of her so I couldn't look away, and then -- I was Chosen!"

Talia frowned, picturing the struggle in her mind. "That... doesn't sound very pleasant."

"It doesn't?" Sherrill's tone was odd, as thought she had never considered it from that angle. She paused, and her eyes went unfocused for a second, but her next sentence was chirpy as ever. "Well, I don't remember feeling bad about it. Anyway, your rooms are this way."

***

When Talia arrived at class, meeting her yearmates for the first time, she began to understand just what she had gotten herself into. The class was conducted by a Herald Teren; he was imposing enough, being a man, though she had the sense he was trying not to be. And her yearmates were boys too, all three of them. Davan and Griffon looked polite enough; Drake sat there not really looking at anyone and seeming to be about to cry. _What happened to him, I wonder?_

The class had begun with introductions and the discussion of what Heralds did for the Kingdom. Even Talia knew this much. They adjudicated disputes, rode circuit, acted as messengers, and did, essentially, everything the Queen needed. Everyone except Drake contributed to the discussion.

It was dangerous being a Herald, of course. Talia knew this too. The tale she'd been reading about the last of the Herald-Mages had made that plain. Herald-Mage Ashkevron had died alone to keep the Kingdom from falling to an evil wizard. But she, Talia, could do this duty, just like the Heralds of old.

"So," Teren said. "That's all well and good, but can anyone tell me what Companions do to keep the Kingdom safe? Davan?"

Talia leaned forward intently. This was the part she didn't know.

Davan cleared his throat. "Well, like you said, how Heralds judge disputes? It's like that for Companions. But they Judge people. It has to do with how the Gifts work, and how Companions came to be, from way back in the beginning of Valdemar..."

Teren nodded. "Go on, Davan."

Talia was uncomfortably aware that, next to her, quiet Drake had begun to cry silently, the first tears rolling down his face.

"This is back when magic was real," Davan started. "And Baron Valdemar, he was a mage, a good mage. But not all the other mages were good people. Same for the people with regular mind magic Gifts like we have today. And he was worried about it. So this is what he did."

In the tale, as Davan described it, Baron Valdemar had been getting older and concerned about both the use of Gifts and the fate of his kingdom. He thought his son would be a good leader, but he didn't know about his son's children, and so on. Talia could understand that. So he went to a field -- now Companion's Grove -- and prayed, and did magic, and then the Companions emerged.

"And the first three Companions," Davan said, "were Ardatha, Kyrith, and Steladar. Ardatha Chose Valdemar himself, and his Herald Beltran was Chosen too, by Kyrith. That's where he got the idea to make being a Herald into more of a job than it used to be. And his son, Prince Restil, he stepped up all ready, but Steladar Judged him. Rejected him. Turns out he wouldn't have made a good king; he was meaner 'n his father knew."

Drake sobbed once, quietly, and finally spoke. "My Companion Judged my brother. My twin brother. He'll never be the same again. M'sorry. I don't think I can listen to this yet, sir. Is it all right if I leave for a bit?"

Teren nodded and Drake wordlessly slipped out.

Talia tried to understand. "Do they... do the Companions kill people when they Judge them?"

"Bright lady, certainly not!" Teren's face paled. "It's a kindness, Talia. To everyone. Heralds have Gifts, yes? All Heralds?"

Talia nodded.

"Well," Teren said, "there are more people born with Gifts than there are Companions to go around. And you can't have just anyone using a Gift unscrupulously or without training; they could hurt people. The Companions can tell who is fit to be a Herald, someone who is capable of proper and ethical use of his powers, and who isn't. And if someone is unfit, they simply remove their Gift. That's all Judgment is." He smiled a friendly smile, as though it were all very easy.

Talia frowned in response. Something inside her felt like she shouldn't ask the question, but she ignored it. "Does it hurt people?" _If it's not a bad thing, then why is Drake crying?_

"Only a little bit," Teren assured her. "If the person had a strong Gift, he or she may be unconscious for a time. In rare cases someone's personality might shift, or there might be other complications, but these are very, very rare. It's a perfectly safe process. Now, whether people understand that is another thing entirely; there are always rumors about Companions come to kill people. But these aren't true. Ask your Companion if you don't believe me. You'll be able to as your bond grows stronger, if your Gift turns out to be Mindspeech."

Griffon frowned like he was trying to ask already. Davan didn't. His parents were Heralds, he'd said, so he probably already knew.

Rolan was certainly sending her affirmation, or so it seemed, but then her stomach dropped as a horrible thought occurred to her. "Can they Judge someone who's already been Chosen?" _Oh gods, they won't send me back, will they?_

Teren gave her another reassuring smile. "They don't. It's only happened one time that we know of. It was in the time of the very last Herald-Mage -- you know who that was, don't you?"

Finally, a question she knew the answer to! "Savil Ashkevron."

"Right! Well, she wasn't the last of the last; technically speaking, there were others Chosen after her, but she lived the longest. And this was actually one of her students, a young man by the name of Tylendel Frelennye. He was a trainee Herald-Mage who became involved in a nasty blood feud and plotted violent magical revenge on his enemies."

"So he was Judged?"

Teren nodded. "When Gala found out, certainly she Judged him. Unfortunately, she pulled his Gift away while he was in the middle of working a complicated spell using the energy of his lifebonded. There was some kind of magical backlash -- we don't quite understand it -- that left Tylendel dead."

Oh. "What about his... lifebonded?" Whatever that meant.

"Him?" The Herald shrugged. "He probably lived. The Chronicles don't say much; he wasn't a Herald, after all. I recall he was Savil Demonsbane's nephew and some kind of bard, though not a Gifted one. But anyway, Talia, that was the only case, and it was hundreds of years ago now. It won't happen again."

She swallowed. "Th-- thank you for telling me."

It was all a little bit too much to understand, all these things she'd never known, all the reasons she should have been afraid and all the things she was beginning to fear. She felt -- she didn't know what she felt. Rolan would make it better.

When the bells rang for the end of class Talia wandered, trance-like, out of the Collegium. She stumbled. She didn't care. And suddenly, she was in Companion's Field, and Rolan was there for her, solid and warm and real and nothing like any of the awful rumors, and Rolan would always be there--

She knotted her hands in his mane, making trembling fists in the hair, and pressed her face to Rolan's neck. _Tell me I'm worthy_ , she thought. _Tell me I'm worthy. Tell me I'm worthy._

***

Secure in her bond with her Companion (and she couldn't ever shut him out, but why should she want to?), Talia settled well into Collegium life after all the problems with the "pranksters" were resolved. It was time to do something about Elspeth. She was eight years old now, and not only did she have to be Chosen to be the Heir, the Companions were already indicating that it wasn't long before they would Judge her.

Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be much that Talia could do about it. Or anyone else, for that matter. Anyone, that was, except Hulda, the strange out-Kingdom woman who was Elspeth's new nurse. Any time Talia tried to approach Elspeth, Hulda was there, murmuring about "unsuitable company" and then leading her away. It was -- well, it was suspicious, first of all. The question was, what could Talia possibly do about it?

Her first thought was that she could get into the Collegium records and find out more about where Hulda came from. This one ended miserably, as she was caught by Lord Orthallen and had to stammer out some poor excuse about checking to see if Sensholding could claim Privilege Tax on her.

Her next attempt, following Hulda around, was something of a disappointment; she didn't possess any real tracking skills, so that she could at least follow her quietly. So she had to stick to crowded hallways, royal events, and so on, and as such didn't learn anything of real value.

"I don't suppose," she complained to Rolan one evening, "that you Companions would ever consider Choosing a real thief? I can't do this."

Rolan's snort, she knew, meant no.

Trying to break into Hulda's rooms at night, she slipped down the side of the wall and into some bushes, fracturing her arm in three places as she went. That was the last time she ever tried spying on Hulda. It wasn't worth it, and besides, when she thought about it, she never really had much to go on in the first place.

And Elspeth got worse, and worse, and worse.

***

Elspeth at eight had been a terror to the maids. At nine she began to scream at all the Heralds, who took to avoiding her entirely, and at ten she would make a scene at any and every diplomatic function the Queen tried to include her in, even the ones she ought to be old enough by now to at least sit through with some fidgeting.

"No, I am not going and you can't make me!" she yelled through the door, as Talia noticed the newest of the maids emerging with bruises on her face.

She sighed inwardly. "Can you have Hulda summoned?"

For some reason, Hulda was the only one Elspeth would listen to, and after a few minutes Hulda came out looking satisfied. Talia didn't dare enter Elspeth's rooms by herself anymore. Not after that time with the knives.

"She is asleep now," Hulda said. "I am sorry, but she will not be able to attend dinner."

"That's all right," Talia said, gratefully. At least there had been no major injuries or destruction this time. The woman could work wonders.

It would be a relief when Elspeth was Judged and no longer able to be the Heir, she found herself thinking, and felt only a little guilty for it.

***

It happened, finally, when Elspeth was thirteen, just after Talia'd gotten her Whites. Talia awoke in the dead of night to find her bond with Rolan transformed into a strange sense of concentration, and as she looked out the window at the Palace grounds she saw a figure moving off toward Companion's Field. The person moved haltingly but inexorably forward, as though being drawn to a place they didn't want to go and fighting it all the same.

Elspeth, she knew, and so she followed.

She reached the Grove just in time to see it. Rolan was standing next to a mare emerging from the brightest light Talia had seen, shining from the center of the trees. _A new Grove-born Companion? Why send a Grove-born for this?_

Elspeth stood by the new Companion, transfixed. Talia could see in the flickering light that her face bore an expression of absolute horror, frozen still. Then she gave a strangled scream and collapsed into the cold earth of the Grove.

Even with a team of Healers working on her constantly, Elspeth didn't wake up for a sevenday. Sometimes this happened when the Gift a person would have had was powerful, they said, or when a Grove-born did the Judging. It might have happened when she hit her head falling. But it wasn't the fault of Judgment. Of course not.

Then why did she scream, Talia wondered. She only wondered it for a bit, though. It must just have been surprise. Of course. She was misremembering.

When Elspeth woke up, she was... different. Simple, you might say, like some of the Holder children Talia had known. She moved more slowly now, and much of the time couldn't remember her name. It was sad to watch, sometimes. But Elspeth was kinder now. Maybe she didn't remember how to be otherwise.

And sometime shortly after, Hulda left. Talia couldn't bring herself to be too curious about it. Many people could handle Elspeth now. Not that Elspeth had to do much anymore, since she couldn't be the Heir. The Heir had to be Chosen, and not Judged. Never Judged.

Jeri was made Heir not two sevendays later, and everyone Talia saw seemed distinctly relieved to hear of it. After all, Jeri was already Chosen.

***

 _Two years after that..._

Dirk was in agony as he watched -- as they all watched -- Rolan stumble into camp alone, two arrows around his neck. The headless and the broken. Kris was dead, Talia beyond rescue.

 _Gods, to lose both of them, at once!_ He was dimly aware of movement, hands holding him back.

"We've got to do something! We've got to get her back--"

"We can't!" someone was yelling at him, and it hardly made any sense. "We can't get to her; there's nothing we can do."

"I can Fetch her. If someone with Sight helps me..."

Rolan, still lathered with sweat, raised his head and looked straight at him.

 _:Rolan says--:_ Ahrodie began, but was suddenly cut off by a strange, deeper mindvoice.

 _:Dirk,:_ the voice said, and he realized he was hearing Rolan. _:I will do what I can to lend aid, but it may not be enough. She is far away now.:_

One of the trainees offered to help; her Sight range was weak, and try as he might, he couldn't get a fix. It was nothing like working with Kris. No other Herald had such a range. No one Chosen could help him.

They sat in an out-of-the-way corner of the camp and tried for hours, Companions standing around them and somehow -- Dirk never understood how, and suspected he wouldn't even if the situation were normal -- kept feeding them power. But it wasn't enough, and they couldn't do this forever. When the reaction-headache loomed up and blotted out all rational thought, he put his head down and cried.

No one saw Talia again. He liked to think that perhaps she was still alive, imprisoned in Ancar's capital, and that he would go to her. It was really the only thought that gave him hope, after Orthallen disappeared from camp, and shortly thereafter, when Ancar's forces invaded.

***

At first it was regular soldiers. That was bad enough.

The next year something happened that none of the Heralds could quite identify, but all could reliably sense -- an odd feeling akin to the Death Bell, like a dam bursting. And then came the mages.

They didn't have Herald-Mages to protect them -- and couldn't afford out-Kingdom mercenaries -- but Companions were the next best thing. And even Heralds began to understand why the common folk feared them.

They were heading, under cover of darkness, for the Hardorn border. But darkness wasn't always enough to avoid mages. It was, however, a good way to avoid questions from Selenay or Jeri, for this mission was not exactly an authorized one. If it had been, they might have sent someone better at assassination.

Dirk had begun to recognize the unpleasant, hollow thud of a corpse hitting the ground, so he wasn't particularly surprised by this one. Ahrodie had stopped in concentration, and then the mage -- died. Just like that, quicker than it took to breathe once.

 _:It's like Judgment,:_ Ahrodie told him. _:Only, well, harsher.:_

 _:Oh, I'm not complaining,:_ Dirk sent back, pushing down the sense of unease far beyond where she could detect it -- for even Heralds these days had reason to be cautious, knowing now that the rumors about Companions had been true. You didn't want to make one angry. _:I only wanted to know why you all never mentioned this before.:_

Ahrodie flicked her ears backwards in half-amusement as they started running again. _:Tell me, Chosen, would you have trusted us?:_

Dirk had no answer.

Companions, in the metaphor he'd been constructing since the invasion -- very privately, in the smallest of thoughts where Ahrodie wouldn't see -- were like Firestarting. Powerful, yes. Useful, certainly. But there was no way to tell whether it would be like Griffon or like Lavan Firestorm. The best anyone could do was hope the wind blew the right way.

But Ahrodie was all he had, and Ahrodie was going to take him to Ancar, and there they'd find out if Talia still lived. He had to trust in that. He had to believe that at least for now, their interests aligned.

And Talia would still be alive. He'd know if she were dead. She had to be alive. She was alive. She was. She was.

Either way, Ancar deserved Judgment. Ahrodie agreed with him on that. It was a Companion's duty. It had always been.

And so they rode on, into the night, for the good of Valdemar.


End file.
